


a travel to his beyond

by theineffabletale



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale is Bad at Being an Angel (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is Angry at God (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Being a Demon (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Crowley is Whipped (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Other, POV Crowley (Good Omens), Pining, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Soft Crowley (Good Omens), The Ineffable Plan (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:35:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25515130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theineffabletale/pseuds/theineffabletale
Summary: Crowley craved mischief but got tricked by Fate into pining after a soft angel
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley - Relationship
Kudos: 10





	a travel to his beyond

**Author's Note:**

> hi, this is dedicated to my insomnia

Crowley did not know what he wanted. How could he want anything when he was seemingly a fallen angel of irretrievable damnation. 

To Dante Alighieri, he was only kidding about the little shop of horrors downstairs. There weren’t slaughtered prophets or famished fathers. Odysseus very well enjoyed his Odyssey and his bounty to name it after himself. But it was Crowley and he exaggerated, by hoping to cause a greater mischief he only deepened the foundations of their fear of the ineffably divine. Aziraphale, for all his work, was “much indebted”.

With Milton, he did a better job. Darkness visible in the eyes of Hastur and his companions was, surprisingly, perfectly captured by the blind genius. His daughters did most of the job anyway; on the page they managed to portray his crawling to the Garden, by imitating his demonstration in their garden, sometimes on multiple occasions in a single day. So he helped, not intentionally, at first. But the more Aziraphale ‘intervened’, the more he craved his own demonic miracle of the sorts. The human mind that his companion was infatuated with tempted him to act on his urges.

So what was he? After centuries, he opted not to find out. Was he given the choice not to find it? He guessed not. Centuries after centuries, with the duality of the human body and the defiance that grew out of the binaries they themselves established, he learnt to reside in the border between them and out of learning it, came a respect he never knew he had the potential for. Thus, he knew respect but still chose to remain a recluse.

What made him seek… companionship? Theirs was a communication that grew out of connecting himself to an angel, to the world, to stop being only a mere part of the machine that operated the divine plan. Only then did he learn to appreciate the incarnate body.The arms gave him the ability to turn on the light when he wanted to leave the darkness, fingers pushed buttons that worked their way to Aziraphale’s nerves. Boy did his feet mean he was not crawling. He learnt to grow out hair, determinative of how he could change as the humans did, but most of all, he loved the space that came with the body. Space meant leaving the topsy turvy of the infernal office. He left behind his rank of falling deeper the higher he’d score. No, his incarnate existence meant a proximity to Aziraphale. Not because he was Milton’s Satan, yearning for closure to Eden to lure it with his damnedness. He had already been to heaven, the native soil. He had rebelled, fallen, and tempted, fallen deeper. Yet, what Aziraphale introduced was a light unseen to Heaven as it was unmatched. Coy were Aziraphale’s smiles that reached Crowley’s eyes and slowly worked its way to the pit of his stomach over the centuries. A light so contagious that could fill up the sore spots of a millennia of darkness weighing down on his soul. It meant the humane hesitation, understanding Aziraphale’s enthusiasm to always find the right words and communicate solely after finding them. A bookshop that grew a bit lighter with everyday that Aziraphale’d read a new book, become more of a person; it was only through Crowley’s witnessing of the angel’s transformation that he transformed himself, not out of a natural but a habitualized necessity.

He also grew to understand the beauty of food, not as nourishment or bodily pleasure but for its worldliness that attracted the angel. So what if he chose to drink a few more glasses than he’d prefer if it meant Aziraphale ordered an additional _tres leches_ that he had being going about for days. Ignoring the calls of the office assigning him new cities and intentionally ditching the said cities for the sake of stalking a naive angel would perhaps, somehow, be satanic enough.

Time after time, the darkness grew to such small amounts of fragmented _evil_ that he genuinely believed to have lost his identity. In the darkness invisible, the serpent in him would only crawl his way back to the little bookshop in Britain, without the hope of divine forgiveness or earning himself a demonic name in hell. It was Crowley that condemned himself to a lost identity in his search for meaning in the presence of an angel that aimed just a bit further beyond the limits of not only his but also Crowley’s creation.

  
  



End file.
